


rain down on me

by Awriterwrites



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Nipple Play, Nipple kink, Smut, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 04:54:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awriterwrites/pseuds/Awriterwrites
Summary: Thunderstorms do something to Harry.Thanks to @dimpled-halo for the beta work. xx





	rain down on me

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why my brain is like this.

A deafening crack of thunder sounds, the loud boom of it shaking the walls and rattling the tiny, delicate tea cups that line the far wall.  It’s closely followed by a near blinding zap of lightning that splits the sky, illuminating the small shop as if it were midday under an electric white sky.

Harry loves storms.

For some reason, they just _do_ things to him.

Something about the sound of rain on a plate glass window and the knowledge that the heavens are splitting and letting forth their rage while he’s safe and warm inside makes him feel... _reckless_. Makes him want to burrow under the covers and kiss someone senseless or lie in front of a raging fireplace taking someone apart as the world outside melts in shades of fuzzy gray and brown.

He also loves being caught in a storm — racing through collecting rainwater under his feet, hair frizzing up from the electricity and humidity in the air; the feel of rain covering his skin like an unknown lover’s caress, dangerous but comforting at the same time. When he was younger, barely able to drive a car and just figuring out who he was, who he was becoming, he kissed a boy under a tree during a summer rainstorm. As the boy pressed fevered lips to his skin and slipped a leg between Harry’s, Harry came alive with the sudden knowledge that _yes, yes, this is it; this is what I’ve been waiting for, this is what it’s all about_.

Ever since then, to this day, Harry adores a good storm. He likens it to magic. He loves it.

It’s been a long day. One of those days where you think about how good it will feel to just slip back into bed, let the cool, soft cotton sheets wrap you up and drag you back into oblivion. The air was humid and cloying with the threat of rain all day, the sky dark and gray, barely letting the sun greet the busy people of London making their way to work, to school, home…

The day was made longer by an overwhelming shipment of inventory that had been delivered just after lunch. Harry had been hunched over boxes unpacking all day, moving about his little toy shop organising and setting up tiny little puzzle sets, bright eyed dolls, technicolor art supplies and eclectic, hand-painted music instruments. He was sweaty and a little rumpled and so tired he didn’t think he could make it the three blocks home.

That was before the storm started.

Just as the sky opens and the lights flicker under the pressurized jolt of lightning, Harry reaches up to put the last two overstock Pretty Puppies on the top shelf. As he stretches up to his tiptoes, his blouse slides up his torso with the movement. The pink floral, silk georgette moves over his chest, scraping lightly at his nipples.

 _Oh_.

That... _oh_.

Harry has always had sensitive nipples. When it’s cold they puff up like sunflowers stretching for the sky. When he pulls his t-shirts off at the end of the day they pop out like doorbells. And, _god_. When Louis so much as breathes over them…

Apparently, Harry realizes, as the first big fat drops splatter the pavement outside, apparently a sudden rainstorm has the same effect?

The way his shirt feels grazing the sensitive skin on his upper chest and the way his body just lights up under the feeling... _holy shit_. It’s like staring up at a shooting star. If a shooting star were connected to his dick and fueled by an electric shot of desire and white hot arousal. It’s like being struck by lightning to his core, only except charged ions of energy, the jolt is pure arousal.

It feels amazing.

It hurts almost, it feels _so_ good. It...well. It’s — they’ve — never felt _this_ good before.

Harry’s brow furrows in confusion as the pleasure-pain takes over his senses when another clap of thunder sounds. The rain creates an even melody on the rooftop and, as Harry bites back a moan, his blouse skitters back down over his skin.  Slowly, as if under a spell, he moves the last box in front of the display, his dick twitching in his trousers at the pin-prick of stimulation centered on his nipples, radiating outward through his body. Thankfully, the store is empty, the dreary weather keeping idle shoppers away on this dreary Monday evening.

He bends down, slices the tape open at the seam of the last box and groans when his forearm brushes his right nipple.

 _Fuck_.

They are so _hard_.

Sometimes when Louis has been particularly... _aggressive_ ...during sex, and has maybe paid a little bit _too much_ attention to his nipples, the next day Harry will feel sore there. But _this_ ? This is different. He can actually _feel_ precome leaking from his dick and he winces a little at the wet patch that has started to form in his pants. _Jesus_. It’s almost as if he’s started without Louis; almost like he could come just from…

 _Oh_.

Spell broken, he quickly shoves the box under the display table, rearranging the vibrant blue cloth covering the table so that it’s sufficiently hidden. One of the perks of owning your own small business is that you can close whenever you want.

And Harry _wants_.

He locks the register, grabs his messenger bag and sets the alarm, all while cupping his hands over his pectoral muscles, feeling the hard buds of his nipples press against his palms. _Fuck_ — it _burns_ with how much he needs — something, _anything —_ some kind of attention on them. The sign on the door is flipped over from “Come On In!” to “Come on Back!” and then he’s rushing through the rain toward home.

Toward Louis.

The raindrops freeze his flushed skin, but do nothing to quell the flaming itch that’s rising under each nipple, rushing through his bloodstream. Another lightning flash lights up the empty street and Harry feels frantic — absolutely frantic to get home. Their flat is just a few blocks away, chosen for proximity to the shop, and Harry is so, so grateful. He feels like a man possessed, the need to just get naked, get underneath Louis, driving him through the miserable weather. Driving him home.

He tears through the foyer, up the stairs and by the time he gets to the top and in front of their door he’s completely hard in his jeans, panting and rubbing the pads of his fingers over his erect nipples through the sheer material of his shirt — plastered to his skin, wet and dripping all over the welcome mat.

“Louis!” He breathes out, desperate, reeling.

He can hear murmured voices from the lounge so he follows the sound, dropping his bag and losing his shoes on his way. “Babe,” he nearly moans, making Louis drop the bowl of popcorn on his lap and turn to stare at him, open mouthed and wide eyed, clearly surprised at Harry being home an hour early.

He realizes, rationally, in the back of his mind, that he looks a mess — is _making_ a mess all over the floor, but he doesn’t care. He has to have Louis. Now.

“H — Harry? What are you —”

Harry cuts him off, yanking him off the sofa and pulling him toward him. “Need you,” he murmurs against his lips.

Louis is warm, so _warm_ , and _soft_ in his long sleeved t-shirt and sweatpants, and he comes willingly, folds himself into Harry’s arms, not saying anything about the rain water that’s soaking through his clothes, getting him wet and messy just like his husband. “Baby, what…?”

Harry groans and grapples with Louis’ face so that he can hold him still, kiss him deeper, harder. He’s so overcome, his nipples hurting and sensitive and buzzing between them in such a way that he can’t articulate what he needs.

Louis drags his hands over Harry’s shoulders, their tongues finally meeting, making Harry sigh contentedly. Louis’ hands travel down Harry’s front, tracing over his collarbones, heading toward the buttons of his shirt. His fingers skip over his chest and one pinkie — one innocuous pinkie — grazes a hard, needy nipple and Harry _keens_ , his knees buckling and mouth hanging open in a gasp.

“ _Baby…_ ” Louis breaks their kiss and Harry drops his forehead to Louis’ and whines. “What — ?”

“N — need —” Harry rolls his hips forward and now it's Louis’ turn to gasp when he feels the hard, rigid length of Harry’s cock through the layers of damp clothing.

“What’s got you so worked up?” Louis wonders with a small smile playing on his lips. He pushes Harry’s wet shirt off of his body, the flimsy material dropping to the ground with a wet slap.

Harry bites his lip and squeezes shaky hands over the soft give of Louis’ hips. “I…” He can’t talk, can’t even...he has no idea why his nipples are so sensitive — _especially_ sensitive tonight — but they are and he’s here, standing in front of Louis just shaking with how much he _needs_.

Louis watches him carefully and slowly, deliberately, drags his clever fingers down the plane of Harry’s chest until finally, finally, he reaches Harry’s nipples. Harry moans, just a little, a tiny hitch of a noise in the back of his throat at the mere notion of Louis touching him there.  And then, _then_ , Louis pinches each one between his thumbs and pointer fingers — sharp and hard, a bitter, dark pull of hurt.

“Ah!” Harry shouts and rocks forward, _hard_ , looking for friction, for relief.

“Harry... _fuck_.” Louis steps back to look at him, but Harry isn’t having it. He grabs for Louis and Louis, god bless him, stays close, stays in Harry’s orbit, stays in front of him, lips finding his again so that they can kiss and kiss and kiss. Harry wants to drown in him, wants to let himself get swallowed up whole by him and the feeling of his lips and his heat and his hands on his chest…

Louis bites down on Harry’s bottom lip, drawing a throaty gasp from him, and pulls them toward their bedroom. Once inside their room, Louis undoes Harry’s flies and pushes him gently back onto the mattress, attaching his mouth to one of Harry’s throbbing nipples. The shadows in the room are like gray watercolors dripping from the ceiling to the floor, casting prisms of washed up light around the small space. Harry can hear the sound of rain pelting the roof and he feels his pulse beat in time with nature — the synthesis of it like being completely in tune with the world all around. Everything is here, in this room, alive and moving, but at the same time, centered to two perfect points of tension — Harry’s skin and Louis’ mouth.

Louis moves away and Harry’s hands fly up to his nipples but before he can even touch himself there, before he can even feel the torturous pain of it, his hands are slapped away.

“ _Don’t touch_ .” Louis orders, in _that_ voice — the one that makes Harry’s dick jump against the open zipper of his jeans.

Harry arches his back and pushes his bum off the bed so Louis can pull his wet jeans down his legs, underpants along with them, and once the air hits his skin he feels another twisting flare of exquisite pleasure, down low in his groin, but sparked like the lightning in the night sky under each nipple.  And, _god_. He needs the wet heat of Louis’ mouth on his skin and the sharp bite of his teeth on each dusky rose colored bud. Needs it yesterday.

“ _Lou…_ ”

“Ssh,” Louis hushes him. He pulls his own t-shirt off, exposing golden skin and peaked nipples of his own. When he yanks his pants down Harry can see he’s not wearing underwear and that his cock is filling quickly. “I wonder…” Louis says softly, crawling over Harry on the bed, fisting himself loosely, working himself over. It’s one of Harry’s favorite sights — seeing Louis wank himself. So fucking hot. But he’s impatient tonight; he needs _too_ much, wants Louis to cover him like the rain dripping down the side of their building. He wants to feel him, touch him, get him however he can have him.

Harry bucks up, seeking the heat of Louis’ body, fists still clenching the duvet, as he turns his head back and forth, feeling more and more out of control as the seconds tick by. “I wonder…” Louis says again, careful not to get anywhere near Harry’s dick. “I wonder if you can…”

Louis lays alongside Harry, pressing his erection into the side of Harry’s thigh, so close to his fist, running the flat of his palm up Harry’s belly, making his skin jump. “I wonder if you can,” he whispers, hot, into Harry’s ear, “come just from this…”

And then, bastard that he is, Louis finds a nipple, flicks it and then rolls it between his fingers, driving a pained whine from his husband. “ _Louis_!” Harry moans, feeling a shock jolt his insides and zip through his groin in hot, hot arousal.. The electric zing of it makes his cock jump and dribble more precome right onto the fuzzy line of his happy trail.

Louis smirks and leans up on an elbow so that the entire line of his body is pressed against Harry’s, he maneuvers Harry’s arm underneath him so he can get comfortable, hot breath ghosting over Harry’s other aching nipple. “Do you think you can darling?” He licks out teasingly over the puckered skin and pinches his other nipple deliciously. Harry yelps and arches his back, still holding fast to the cotton of the duvet, eager to obey Louis, if only to get what he wants, what he needs.

“Can you sweetheart?” Louis says around a mouthful of skin and raised flesh, his teeth scraping tortuously against the sensitive peak.

“Nngh,” Harry groans, feeling precome spreading as his cock twitches pitifully.

He’s pretty sure he can. Come, that is, just from Louis fucking with his nipples. He hasn’t before, but he’s never felt quite like this before either. He’s just so on _fire_ from it — the sweet ache in his nipples, the sound of rain falling outside — interrupted routinely by thunder and lightning — it’s like nothing else. It feels like there is a direct line, acute and fiery from each nipple to his cock. He can feel the tightness in his balls and the throb between his legs as the blood pumps hot and fast pushing him closer and closer and — _fuck_ . Louis hasn’t even touched his prick. Doesn’t sound like he intends to, either. Harry moans at the thought, arching up and closing his eyes tight against the onslaught of thoughts and sensations rushing through him. Overwhelmed. Hot. Aching. Love. _Need_ . So much — _too much_.

“Baby, I’m gonna move but I need you to stay still, yeah?” Louis’ voice is smooth and sultry, like satin whispering against his skin and Harry shudders from the sound of it. Between the fingers that are assaulting his nipples and the way his legs are shaking and his hands are falling asleep from clenching at the covers so tight, he’s...he’s _incapable_ of answering.

Louis seems to sense Harry’s current inability at making any sense so he takes his silence as agreement. He straddles Harry’s hips, slotting Harry’s full, fat cock between his arse cheeks, rubbing himself against him just a little bit — not enough to do much, other than pull a pained whimper from the man underneath him. “Ah _fuck_ , Haz. Feel so good. Wish you were inside me…”

Louis bends and sucks the dry nipple into his mouth, pulling on it hard with the wet, tight suction of his mouth and lips. Harry cries out, real tears slipping from his eyes as his mouth hangs open, panting. Louis’ hand is busy pinching and rolling the other nipple and Harry...Harry is shaking from the exertion of not moving, of trying to get off just from this — just from the heat of Louis’ mouth and his hands and the exquisite, tender, rolling pleasure that rolls out from his chest outward toward his extremities — his _dick_.

He feels like he’s burning alive. Bright, hot and so, so hopelessly in love with his husband who knows him inside out — knows him well enough to understand that when he shows up in front of him on a rainy Monday night, dripping wet and incoherent with a dizzying arousal that all he _needs_ , all he _wants_ is him.  All Harry ever needs and wants is Louis. And Louis knows just how to give him what he needs. Every goddamn time.

“Lou...” Harry grits out between clenched teeth, his bottom lip raw from how much he’s been biting it.

Louis is doing an admirable job sitting still on top of Harry’s cock, his own dick hard and red and glistening at the tip, clearly just as affected by the turn of events this evening as Harry is. “Fuck, Harry. I wanna — wanna hear you,” Louis says, mouthful of nipple, his lips reverberating over the wonderfully sore nub. “Want you to come like this, sweetheart. Know you can, baby. Know you can be so good for me.” Louis is staring up at him, his bright blue eyes eager and intense, fingers working frantically at Harry’s pulled and plucked nipples.

“Louis — I — Oh _god_ !” Harry moans, high and loud and with one fantastic surge of heat his cock spills, thick and hard in between Louis’ cheeks and Louis, _god_ , Louis starts to move then, trapping his dick between their bellies using the come oozing from Harry’s cock against him to help Harry ride out his orgasm and finally, finally, Harry grips Louis’ hips, fingers pushing into the plush skin and he fucks himself up against Louis’ hot, willing body, the friction making him see stars.  Louis bites down on one of his nipples, making Harry’s vision white out as he twists the other painfully, but it hurts _so good_ , and he comes harder than he can remember ever coming before, body shaking with it.

Harry pushes and pulls Louis against him as he rubs his cock up and down, forward and back between Louis’ cheeks, and _christ_ — he’s _still_ coming.  He’s still coming and moaning, loud and deep, when Louis swears, “Fucking — _Harry_! You’re — you’re gonna make me…”

And then he’s coming too, spilling all over Harry’s stomach, his face smashed to Harry’s chest, hot breath cascading all over his spent, red, raw nipple, his other hand flat and scrabbling at the other one on the other side. Harry is nearly comatose from his post-orgasm haze. His entire body feels spent and he’s sated and a little sore and a lot sticky and...the rain is still falling, softer now, thunder far away, rumbling in protest at its retreat.

“Harry?” Louis’ mouth moves against tender skin and Harry shivers and runs his hands up and down Louis’ back, reveling in the way their bodies just _fit_. Always have.

“Hm?”

“‘S raining.”

Harry waits a moment before he smiles, very self satisfied and maybe a little smug. “It is,” he says slowly, quietly.

The rain on the window sounds like a whisper: _mine, mine, mine — yours, yours, yours_.

“Was hoping it would storm tonight,” Louis remarks, pressing another wet kiss to Harry’s chest.

“Yeah?” Harry lets his hands wander, inevitably landing on Louis’ bum, one long finger slipping up against his wet hole.  

A fresh wave of thunder crashes outside their window and Harry flips Louis over, grabbing for the lube. Louis gasps in surprise but opens his legs, letting Harry in. “Love it when it storms.” Harry’s mouth is on Louis’, words whispered in a shiver against the white glow of his teeth.

“Know you do,” Louis groans as Harry plunges two slick fingers inside him.

The rain picks up and there is a whoosh of wind that rattles the old window frame. Moments later, when Harry pushes inside his husband, drawing a sound out of him that could make him come all over again, he thinks about how magical a rainy night can be and how, long ago, a young boy leaned against the rough bark of an oak tree and let himself be kissed in the rain. He could have never imagined the perfect, magical life that boy grew up to have — could never have imagined the magic that is _Louis_.  

Louis clenches around him, lightning setting his features in sharp contrast like a vintage movie, black and white against creamy pale sheets. His mouth is open and panting and Harry’s soul floods with an aching kind of love that can only be described as _magic_.  They are built for magic. Just like the magic of a summer storm.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! Let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading.


End file.
